Vice
by abbytherat
Summary: His people are gone, the government is on his heels, and the only one he can turn to is the woman he ruined. Throw a kid in the mix and he's starting to think life was better when he was dead. Frank N Centric...
1. The Unknown

**I watched this movie for the first time just 2 days ago and I **_**LOVED IT**_**! It also gave me a really interesting idea. I really don't know how far I'll take this, but here goes.**

**I don't own RHPS.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Things were fuzzy at first, and painful. That part didn't come as any surprise. He whimpered and shifted around, trying to bring some life back to his sore limbs. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, but once he did he found his surroundings were brightly lit and unfamiliar.

He was covered with a blue blanket and lying on a bed that had barred sides. There was also a sack full of clear liquid hanging from a metal pole next to the bed. His eyes followed the tube protruding from it down to where it disappeared under the blanket near his left arm.

_A hospital?_

And now he was panicking.

He was doing an ineffective job of it though, mostly because his body was refusing to cooperate. His muscles were quivering just from trying to push himself into a seated position, and when he moved one of his legs a jolt of pain shot up his spine that caused him to give a girlish yelp and fall back down.

A figure loomed over the bed that caused him to freeze, and a gruff, friendly, male voice said, "You gotta lie still pal, you're in pretty bad shape."

His eyes bulging, he took in the man's uniform and tried to move away. "Who... who are you?" he whimpered.

The man gave him a sympathetic look and spoke in gentile tones. "Try not to move now. I'm Detective Craig, and you're in the hospital. No one's gonna hurt you."

But this didn't calm him down at all. "I can tell I'm in a hospital!" he barked. His voice was frantic and high. "I specifically asked _not_ to be brought here!"

Detective Craig wasn't fazed. "I know. The gentleman who found you told us, but he had already called 911 by the time you said that, and the paramedics state you were in no condition to patch up and leave there. It was their call. They were just trying to help you."

"Okay," he breathed. He was starting to calm down, the thick lethargy of exhaustion setting in. He was still mentally on high alert though. "Okay," he repeated.

"Right, everything's okay," the Cop assured him. "Now, if you feel up to it I need to take you're statement. The sooner the better so we can get to catching whoever did this to you. I'm just going to start by asking a few questions, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He just stared forward, his face blank.

"For starters, we couldn't find any ID on you. Can you tell me you're name?"

"Frank."

"Alright Frank, did you recognize who did this to you?"

Frank met his eyes for a long moment and then looked away to stare at the IV stand. He was silent, his mouth straight and serious. "No," he finally said.

"Did you at least get a look at their face?"

Their eyes met again. "No."

"Anything about their appearance? Their clothes? Skin color? Anything?"

Frank shook his head, his eyes getting wider.

The Cop was good. He didn't even show any signs of frustration. "Frank, don't look so worried. It'll come back to you if it needs to. Now, just 'cause I have to ask, do you remember _anything_ about what happened?"

"No!" his voice caught in his throat.

"That's fine, that's just fine." Detective Craig ran one thick index finger over the stubble above his lips. He took a moment to contemplate his next move. "I just have a few more questions. These ones are about yourself. Do you feel up to that?"

Frank swallowed and nodded.

"Good," he smiled, not the fake 'I'm you're friend' kind, but one that could actually be sincere. "Now Frank, can you tell me the reason you didn't want to come to the hospital?"

"I was scared," Frank answered immediately. "I... this place... the thought made me feel sick. It still does. I don't really know why."

"Fair enough. I need some of your personal information. Can you tell me your last name?"

"I..." Frank's lower lip trembled and he looked like he was going to cry. "I... There's nothing there!" he all but screamed. "All I can remember is 'Frank'! I don't know who I am! I don't know why I'm here, or who you are, or why you're asking me all these questions. And why does everything _hurt_?"

Detective Craig leaned forward, taking hold of the bar on the side of the bed and holding his other hand out in a placating manner. "Woah Frank. Just take deep breaths, nice and slow. That's it."

Frank did as he was told, and his panic was quickly replaced by wide eyed, pale faced calm.

The door to the room opened and a woman with brown hair and a tired face leaned in. "Tim," she said, "can you come out here?"

Detective Craig frowned at her over his shoulder, but nodded and said, "Just a sec. I'm almost done."

She nodded back, and closed the door once more.

"Frank, you still with me?" the Cop asked.

"Yes." The answer was barely there.

"That's good. Don't you worry about your memory. We're going to do everything in our power to help you out, got it?"

Frank nodded.

"You take it easy. Try to get some sleep. I'm going to leave you alone now, but I'll be right out in that hall way, okay."

Another nod.

Detective Craig hesitated and watched the patient with concern, then got up and left the room. He left the door open a crack.

Once he was alone, Frank sighed and relaxed. He eyed the different bodies standing around outside the doorway warily, and kept his ears perked for any snippets of their conversation he might catch. They were talking too quietly, though, and he couldn't hear anything.

A couple of them moved off, while at least two stayed where they were. They didn't talk and soon Frank stopped paying attention to them. He was starting to feel too warm under the blanket, so he shifted around until it was down below his chest and his arms were lying on top of it. They were dotted with random bruises, his right forearm was bandaged, and there were abrasions on his wrists. He didn't pay attention to any of that.

There was a clock on the wall and after awhile he picked up on its ticking. The monotonous sound should have been annoying, but instead it lulled him and he was nearly asleep by the time Detective Craig came back.

This time the Cop wasn't alone. There was a nurse who went strait for the IV stand and stood next to it. There were two other Officers, the tall and tired woman from before, and a young man with a crooked nose. The last person to come in was obviously a doctor. She had black hair tied back in a professional style and a straight face that belonged in a poker game. She was also wearing a clean, white coat.

"Hello Frank," she said. "My name is Dr Sharon Bannis." She didn't bother with any friendliness, fake or otherwise. "I hear you have amnesia. That's very unfortunate, but I have some good news. We may already have a clue towards your identity. You see, we tested a sample of your blood."

While she was talking, the nurse had slipped the IV out of his hand and replaced it with a little band-aid that was more like a flesh colored dot. She picked up the stand and left the room. When the door opened for a moment he noticed there were more people waiting out in the hall.

Frank sank as far as he could into his pillow (which wasn't very far). He looked like he could barely keep his eyes open. He wet his lips with his tongue and asked, "You did? Why would you do that?"

"You were unconscious when you were bought in, and you had been assaulted. We wanted to make sure your attackers didn't inject you with anything. Also we don't have your medical information, so we wanted to know if you were on any medications."

"How thoughtful." He sounded utterly defeated.

The Doctor's face softened a little. "Yes, well I got a bit of a surprise when I got the results. In fact I had them run three times just to make sure there wasn't some mistake. You see, you're blood came back unidentified."

"That... that means you couldn't find my blood type, right?" Frank's eyes flicked around to all the occupants in the room and than settled back on her. He smiled weakly. "I wouldn't know why that is. I already told Detective Craig, I can't remember anything."

Said Detective spoke up, "It's alright if you don't remember, Frank. That's not the issue here."

"That's right," continued Dr Bannis. "This goes far beyond having an unknown blood type. The problem is that we can't even identify you're _species_. You're not human, Frank. You're not anything we've ever seen before."

Frank's eyebrows lowered and he frowned. He looked worried, but not surprised. He closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them and fixed them on the doctor once more. "I suppose you've already contacted your government?"

"We have." It wasn't the doctor who spoke, but the female Cop. "They're on their way now."

The change was sudden and almost missed. When his eyes turned from the doctor to her, they were lidded. His face was completely calm, and a smirk slowly crept onto his lips. He pushed himself up on his elbows without a wince or sign of the damage to his body, and he said, "Well, that's too bad. They're coming all this way for nothing."

She shuddered, everyone did. The room was beginning to become stiflingly warm, and yet the three Cops and the doctor felt like someone had injected ice into their spines. This was no longer a helpless victim before them. He now seemed terrifying, powerful, and _attractive_.

Detective Craig was doing a better job than the others of keeping calm. "Why do you say that, Frank?" he asked evenly.

"Because _Tim_," Frank's voice oozed out like honey and his eyes travelled shamelessly up and down the Cop's body, "I am not going to simply give myself up to them."

"And how exactly do you plan on getting out of here?" asked Dr Bannis. "I don't even think you can walk."

"That's a..." he paused long enough to create suspense, "_secret."_

The word came out with a weight to it that knocked the air from her lungs. She gasped and had to take a moment to collect herself. "I think... I think we should restrain him," she announced to the others.

"Good idea," said Detective Craig. "We don't know what he's capable of."

Dr Bannis turned to the young man with the crooked nose. "I need you to hold him down."

The Cop gave her a look that said he thought she was nuts. "_Bullshit,_ lady! There's no way I'm going anywhere near that _thing_. For all you know he can spit acid!"

"Stevens!" barked Officer Craig.

"Don't worry," the doctor assured him. "If he could do something so dangerous he wouldn't be in his current condition. I think he's just using some sort of telepathy on us. That's why we feel so strange right now."

Frank laughed slowly, but made no comment.

"I'll do it," Detective Craig sighed. He cautiously approached the bed, placed an arm across Frank's chest, and pushed.

Frank didn't resist, and went down with a suggestive 'oof.' He smiled and said, "Oh Tim, you're so strong, so _forceful._"

The doctor called out, "We're ready," and three nurses came in carrying restraints.

Frank spared them a glance and then leaned up to the Cop who was holding him. "You don't think I'd make it that easy do you?" he whispered into Detective Craig's ear.

"What's that suppos-" the Cop didn't get to finish as the languid form he was holding suddenly came to life.

Frank thrashed so wildly that he barely managed to get a better grip. A leg swung around and would have kicked him in the chest had the female Cop not caught it. The two of them struggled just to hang on, and the nurses hesitated in the face of such violent resistance.

"Hold him still," Dr Bannis said frantically.

The woman just avoided a knee in the jaw and yelled, "Easier said than done! He's stronger than he looks!"

The crooked nosed Cop asked Dr Bannis, "Shouldn't we sedate him?"

"Absolutely not!" the doctor answered firmly. "We don't know what his metabolism is. It could kill him."

Finally Frank reached his limit. His struggles slowed to almost nothing and the nurses jumped in. It took them mere seconds to get him thoroughly strapped down.

When they were done, the Cops stood back, panting and exhausted.

Frank was faring worse though. His eyes were shut tight and he trembled uncontrollably as his body screamed at him for what he had done. It took a lot for him not to vocalize his pain.

Detective Craig eyed Frank's pale and heaving state and then grimaced up at Dr Bannis. "I told you we shouldn't confront him," he said. "We could have avoided this."

The doctor was taken aback. "I just wanted-"

"To satisfy your curiosity?" He addressed the female Officer and asked, "How long until the Feds get here?"

"They said about two hours," she answered. She looked at her watch. "That was twenty minutes ago"

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Dammit." He looked around at the medical staff. "You can all go back to your regular jobs." He pointed at the doctor when she was about to protest and said, "You too. The FBI will want to talk to you when they get here, but until then you're not needed."

She looked at him hard, her poker face back. She said, "Right," and then walked out.

He sighed. "I _really_ didn't need this tonight." He started to leave, but when his two colleagues made to follow he put his hand out to the young man. "No Stevens, you stay here." Officer Stevens opened his mouth to complain, but was cut off. "Don't start. We have no idea what this... whatever it is can do, and I m not leaving him in a room alone."

"Why can't one of the nurses babysit him?"

"Because nurses don't carry guns or nightsticks to defend themselves should he get loose." Detective Craig frowned at the nervous Cop and softened his expression a little. "Look, all you have to do is sit here and make sure he doesn't move. If he even breathes funny, you call me. I'll be right down the hall, got it?"

Officer Stevens nodded reluctantly, and his colleagues left. He didn't really want to sit in the chair by the hospital bed - that was a little too close for comfort - so he stood around moping instead.

He never noticed the small, deviant smile that was forming on Frank's face.


	2. Hot and Flustered

**Just a little warning. There's some guy on guy kissing in this chapter, but it's Frank N Furter so that shouldn't surprise anybody.**

**Also, I know it looks like I have a lot of OCs in this story, but I assure you that **_**none**_** of them are going to be main characters.**

**Don't own.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Officer Stevens paced the room. He was uncomfortable, and the feeling was getting worse with every minute that went by. He kept sending accusatory looks at the alien in the bed.

Frank had calmed down considerably and was resting with his eyes closed.

Stevens wanted to feel hatred, fear, and disgust towards the unusual creature, but with every glance, those feelings ebbed away. The problem was that the 'creature' didn't look unusual at all. He looked like any other man, if a little on the soft side. He was also a trauma victim, the evidence of which was obvious on any area that was not covered by the hospital gown or blankets.

Soon the Cop's glances turned into a gaping stare. Frank had nothing going for him. He was male, bandaged, bruised, and not even human. He wasn't doing anything other than being unconscious, but he still managed to be the most delicious looking thing...

Officer Stevens shook his head. He remembered the doctor mentioning telepathy. The knowledge that he was simply being effected by alien mind control actually comforted him, however it didn't stop the feeling that an invisible magnet was pulling his body towards the bed. He gulped, rushed to the window, and opened it in the hopes that the fall air might alleviate the pressure in the room. One of his hands sneaked up to the collar of his uniform and undid the top few buttons in attempt to find relief.

There was a soft whispering.

The Cop turned around so fast that he lost his balance and had to grab the windowsill to avoid falling.

Frank's head shifted. His eyes were still closed and he was muttering brokenly. He was asleep, caught in a dream.

Step by step the Cop got closer, holding his breath so as to catch what Frank was saying. Frank shifted again, though he couldn't move far. That settled Officer Steven's fear enough to come right up to the bed. He was fascinated, captivated. He couldn't look away if he wanted to.

More whispering.

He still couldn't hear.

Slowly so slowly he leaned over. Closer and closer, until...

A pair of lips met his own.

With a cry of disgust, Officer Stevens leapt back. He vigorously scrubbed his mouth with his sleeve and then snarled at the offender. Realizing that Frank was wide awake and laughing seductively, his face turned red and he yelled, "What the hell man! What's wrong with you?"

"Absolutely nothing at all," Frank purred, "Except that you're too _scrumptious_ to look at but not touch."

The Cop shuddered and took three steps back. "I'm not gay," he said firmly.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not much of a man," Frank countered with his womanly voice.

The magnet was on again, and Stevens didn't even notice that he was moving closer once more. As he stood over the prone figure he panted and shook and fought with every fiber of his being to back away. He really needed to hit the Bran Flakes though, because a second later he took a grip on the bar of the bed and leaned forward.

As soon as he was in range, Frank was attacking the side of his face and his neck with gentile kisses. He moaned and reciprocated, relishing in the little noises of pleasure the creature beneath him was making. He was not a virgin, but not even his wildest dreams could compare to the sensations that Frank was able to coax with nothing more than a touch of the lips. Because of this, when he heard a whisper of, "Undo the restraints," in his ear it seemed like an excellent idea. Just imagine the ecstasy that Frank's _hands_ could bring.

It was the smooth feel of a leather strap against his fingertips that brought him back to realizing what he was about to do. Suddenly visions of every sci-fi film he had ever watched gave him the strength he needed to break away.

Frank made a frustrated whimper and strained towards the Cop as far as the restraints would allow. That wasn't very far, so he settled for pouting.

Officer Stevens gulped and made a mental grasp at sanity, managing to gain enough of a finger hold to realize he should call for Detective Craig, but when he pulled his radio from his belt, the alien spoke up, "You're going to call Tim over so he can spoil our fun?"

"I'm not having fun," the Cop responded. He was about to speak into the device, but Frank cut him off.

"Au contraire," he said. "I think you quite enjoyed it. Besides, what are you going to tell him? That you lost your head and made out with the '_thing'_ (as you so charmingly put it)? I'm sure that will go over well."

"You shut up!" Officer Stevens pointed the radio at Frank like an accusatory finger. "It's you're fault! You're to blame. You used some sort of... of... _Jedi mind trick_ on me!"

One of Frank's eyebrows arched. "Darling, I have no _idea_ what you're talking about." This wasn't a lie. Though he could understand what was meant by 'mind trick,' he didn't recognize the word 'Jedi.'

"Don't give me that." The Cop tried to sound forceful, but the hunger in his eyes and the quaking of his knees were giving him away. His momentary resistance was fading fast.

Frank gazed at him with artificially honest sympathy and made a 'tut' noise with his tongue. "Give you what? Why do you keep fighting this pleasure. I can see you want it, you crave it, and you can't deny it."

And indeed he couldn't. The bit his lower lip and shuffled his feet uncomfortably, then he ever so slowly placed his radio back into its spot on his belt.

"That's it. Come closer."

He did as he was told and soon was in the exact same position he had been in moments before. After a couple of seconds Frank grunted over his inability to move. "Release one of my hands," he breathed. "I want to touch you."

Stevens was nibbling on his ear and only paused long enough to say, "No."

"Why not?" he whined. "It's only one hand. What can I do to a strong man like you with only one hand? Well, that you _don't_ want."

Stevens paused. Frank did have a point, and he was past fear or reason. He obeyed and undid the buckle that held Frank's left hand in place.

Immediately the hand caressed the fabric of his uniform as it made it's way up to his neck.

Frank captured the young man's mouth in a passionate kiss while he undid a couple more of his buttons. Once enough neck was exposed he placed his palm flat against the Adam's apple and sought out a pulse with his fingers on one side and his thumb on the other. He knew what he was doing, and quickly found the spots he wanted.

While keeping Stevens distracted with the kiss, he gently pushed his fingers upwards against the carotid arteries and slowly increased pressure in a way that wouldn't cause pain or alarm, but would still cut off blood flow to the brain. Gravity and the Cop's own eagerness ensured that he wouldn't be able to escape, and by the time he realized something was wrong he was too lightheaded to react. A moment later he blacked out.

At first Frank felt trapped. The body collapsed on top of him and his arm was pinned against his chest. Summoning up what little strength he had left he pushed up so that the Cop slid off him onto the floor.

Frank closed his eyes and placed his newly freed hand over his face. He needed to take several deep breaths as he fought an internal battle against the anxiety, fear, and lust that were wreaking havoc on his frayed psyche. Finally he calmed down enough to realize he didn't have much time.

Fortunately the straps that held him were just the usual hospital fare, and removing them was as easy as undoing a belt. Once he was free he fiddled with the bar on one side of his bed until it went down. He gingerly swung his legs over and stood up. He was wobbly, but the rush of endorphins his little episode with the police officer had caused was keeping the pain at a manageable level. He didn't know how long that would last. He would have to move quickly if he wanted to get out of there before he collapsed.

He stumbled to the door, opened it, and cautiously poked his head out. There were people coming and going, but none of them were familiar. None of them would know to look for him, or think that he was an escaping prisoner. He stepped out and, bracing himself against the wall, started making his way to freedom.

At first he followed the nearest exit sign, but that led to disaster. After staggering down two hallways, he found himself at an emergency exit. Even in his exhausted state, his mind only took a fraction of a second to deduce that if he went out that door an alarm would go off, someone would likely check why, and he might get caught. That and he had no idea what to do once he was outside. He was in no condition to drive, and didn't have a vehicle anyways.

His heart rate was rising once more, but he stubbornly forced it back down. He _would _find a way out of this. Intuition told him to head for the front doors instead, so that was what he was going to do.

He went back the way he came and then spotted a couple wearing normal clothes coming out of one of the rooms. It was safe to assume they were visiting someone and were on their way out. He followed.

His guides disappeared into an elevator, which shut before he could get to it. He sighed and went to the nearest window to confirm that he was on the third floor. Before he could push the 'down' button he heard a voice that made his blood freeze.

"He's awake? Well that's good."

It was the gruff and unmistakable voice of Detective Craig!

"There's no sign of him yet. No, that would cause a panic!"

Frank looked around and dove for the nearest door. He shut it behind himself just as the Detective rounded the corner. Holding his breath, he listened as the dreaded voice got closer. It passed the door and kept going.

Frank exhaled and rested his forehead against the door as relief overtook him.

"You?"

With a shrill scream, Frank jumped away from the source of the sudden intrusion. He stumbled a few paces along the wall and then went down.

The fall jarred him badly. He couldn't see for the pain that was lancing up his spine, and when his vision finally returned it only made him feel worse.

The person who had accosted him was standing there, staring with frightened eyes. He recognized her at once. She was the nurse who had removed the IV from his arm.

To make things worse, there was a sharp knock at the door and Detective Craig's voice called in. "Everything alright in there?"

Frank was frozen to the spot, unable to do anything more than breath. This was as far as he was getting. He knew it. He didn't have to try and move to tell that he had reached the end of his endurance. He watched the nurse. When she tore her eyes from him and went to answer the door, he hung his head in defeat.

The nurse opened the door and smiled at Detective Craig. "I'm fine," she said.

"Really? Because I'm sure I heard a scream."

She stepped back enough that he could see the three patients in the room and the hissing machines they were hooked up to. "Coma ward," she explained. "They have muscle spasms sometimes, and one caught me by surprise. Sorry if I scared you." She shook her head and hid her face with her hand. "I am _so _embarrassed."

"Nah, it's fine." The Detective gave her one of his kindly smiles. "You take care now. Have a nice night."

"You too," she said as he walked off.

She shut the door and sighed. She turned to find Frank watching her warily from his sprawled position on the floor. It was apparent that the only reason he was still upright was because his back was against the wall.

"You're name is Frank, right?"

He didn't answer, just looked her up and down. His face was filled with questions.

The nurse went closer and kneeled next to him. The hospital gown he was wearing left him somewhat exposed, and she observed his damaged body with concern. She didn't bother asking if he was alright. She knew he wasn't.

Instead she asked, "Are you really an alien?"

Again he didn't answer.

She sighed and ran her fingers though her hair. "Do you... do you know what the Government will do to you if they take you?"

"No," he said, "and I would rather not find out."

She nodded. "I know. My name is Linda. I'm going to help you escape."


	3. 1982

**Don't own.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Frank was getting tired of waking up in unfamiliar places.

At least this time he didn't feel like someone had beat the shit out of him. He was a little groggy and very stiff, but that was all.

He was in a soft bed, a double this time. The blanket he was curled in was entirely too warm, so he pushed it down to his hips, sat up, and took stock of his surroundings. It was a tiny, scantily decorated bedroom. He sighed in relief. It wasn't a hospital and it wasn't a cell.

He was having trouble with where he was and how he got there. He could vaguely recall being pushed around in a wheelchair, and was certain he had been in a car at some point. There was a woman too, a nurse. Linda.

So she had done as she said. She helped him escape.

With a comfortable groan stretched his arms over his head and arched his back until it popped. A quick examination revealed that, save for the bandages around his chest and forearm, he was naked (this didn't bother him in the least). He was also pleased that his body had done a good job of healing itself. Never was he so thankful for being a Transvestite. An Earthling would have needed months of convalescence, _if_ they even survived.

When he let his arms back down, the action caused some his hair to fall limply into his eyes. He frowned and took a strand between his thumb and index finger, trying to touch as little of it as possible. He held it far enough that he could see it and made a noise of distaste in his throat. It was like a dead, grimy tendril. It wasn't just his hair either. Now that he was getting over the initial exhilaration of being able to move, he noticed just how disgustingly filthy he was.

His feet sank into ugly orange carpet as he stood up. He looked down at the sheets and was surprised he didn't leave a dirty smear.

A bit of questing yielded a change of clothes and a towel that were left on a nearby dresser. Frank tucked them under his arm and went in search of a shower.

He left the room by the only door and found himself in a living-room/dining-room/kitchen. This was definitely an apartment.

He called out, "Hello?"

No answer.

With a shrug he walked out and tried the nearest door. It was another bedroom, this one much more lived in. The next door revealed what he was looking for: a small washroom with a stand up shower. He went in and locked the door behind him.

The first thing he did was look at himself in the mirror and grimace. He wasn't black and blue anymore, but he still looked a fright. He stood there a long time and didn't notice when his jaw clenched or when he started to tremble.

Finally he managed to shut his eyes and turn his head away. He dropped the lid on the toilet, sat down, and started to remove his bandages as though nothing had happened. He tossed them into the garbage. They weren't necessary anymore.

Once in the shower he didn't react to the frigid water that hit his back when he pulled the faucet. He turned it towards 'hot' just enough that the water was luke warm. He leaned one shoulder against the cool tile wall, and for a few minutes he did nothing but let his tension wash away.

When it was time to get down to business, he started by popping open the various bottles of shampoo and conditioner and sniffing them one by one. They all smelled like 'mixed berry.' Out of curiosity he picked up the soap and sniffed it as well. It smelled like soap.

He was in there so long that, even though the water wasn't hot, the washroom was still filled with steam when he stepped out. It made him light headed so he opened the door a crack.

After he was toweled and dressed he observed himself in the mirror once more. His hair, though clean, was now a tangled mess. The jeans and the white T-shirt he was wearing were a little too loose, and looked terribly plain on him.

_That's a good thing_. He reminded himself. _I have to blend in for now._

He needed a brush, but Linda was the organized type. The only things on the sink were a bar of hand-soap and a small dish of potpourri. The first drawer he tried contained cosmetics, and that made him pause and stare with longing. He hadn't worn any since before... he ended that train of thought and shut the drawer. No matter how exposed he felt without it, makeup was not a good idea. It would get him noticed. That would get him caught.

He tried the rest of the draws and finally found the brush he was looking for in the medicine cabinet. With it in hand he left the washroom, plopped onto the sofa, and started running it through his hair.

As he was doing this, his eyes wandered and found a newspaper on the coffee-table.

He went stiff.

There on the front cover was two pictures of himself. One was an artist's rendition of his usual appearance, and the other was a photograph he didn't even know existed. In it his hair was tamed and his face was clean. He could only remember a handful of times he looked that average in his entire life, and he had to think hard about where it could have come from.

_The wedding! _Of course! It was that time he posed as a priest so he could pick out Earthlings to show off at his convention. This must be from the wedding photo he posed in. He was almost impressed that someone made the connection.

Frank put the brush down, opened the paper to the article, and frowned. According to this he was an escaped mental patient who thought he was from another planet. There was very little detail beyond his description and a phone number to call should he be spotted.

He sighed. This would make things more difficult.

He went back to brushing his hair, and when he was done he didn't style it like he usually would. Instead he mussed it lightly with his fingers so that it hung only slightly curly on either side of his face. When he returned the brush to the medicine cabinet he scrutinized the effect. It wasn't great, but it would have to do.

His stomach rumbled. Now that his appearance was taken care of, the next thing on his list of needs was food. He raided Linda's fridge and found some leftover fried chicken that he slathered in ketchup and devoured.

While in the kitchen corner, he spotted a quark-board that, along with cable bills and notes, had a calender pinned to it. It was flipped to October, but it was the year that caught Frank's attention. It was 1982.

Frank suddenly felt nauseous, and the chicken he had consumed did a nasty lurch in his stomach. He sat heavily into a kitchen chair and leaned his forehead against his palm.

Seven years...

Seven years since... since he died.

But that wasn't what upset him. What had him so horrified was the fact that he couldn't remember when he was resurrected. How long had he been a prisoner? His body wouldn't have held the evidence. It might have been days, or months. It could have been years.

And how had he gotten out?

How did he end up on Earth?

He didn't know.

Right now he didn't know anything. He was alone on an alien planet with a hostile race whose culture was always in rapid flux. He had learned everything he could about Earth in the three years he lived here, but since then it might have all changed. Hell, the United States might belong to Russia now!

He snapped out of it and started frantically searching for a phone. He found one on a stand next to the sofa and dialed the number for the safe house in Denton. An old lady answered. She said she was a receptionist and rudely told him off when he asked if she knew anything about Transvestites.

He tried Fresno, California. An automated voice told him that the number was no longer in service.

Alaska. Same thing.

He knew the number for every Transvestite stationed on Earth. Several of them were on other continents, so he had to place a few collect calls, but it was hopeless. Not one of them picked up. After the final call failed to go through, he slowly put the phone back onto the receiver and cupped his hands over his face.

He needed to think. Acting impulsively would only cause problems. Thinking was what he was good at.

There were two possibilities. Either his people had to move the safe houses, or they left the planet entirely. In both cases he was alone with no help, no technology, and no way of contacting home. The American Government was aware of him and would be on his heels. The general public would be against him.

He needed help.

He could always use the nurse. Linda would have knowledge of recent events, and he had no doubt he would be able to make her do anything he wanted. Still, he couldn't stay here. They would eventually realize she helped him, and he didn't think she would be all that useful on the run.

Besides, she had sympathized with him. That meant it wouldn't take much for her to get attached, and he had enough with Humans and their infuriating attachments. They led to jealousy, resentment, hatred... a myriad of conflicting emotions that would only distract him until he lost his mind. They had already caused his death once, and he didn't need it to happen again.

He thought about Dr. Scott. The aging scientist had mentioned that the Earthlings were working on a Sonic Transducer, however Frank doubted they could ever make a functioning one. They probably thought teleporting a particle across a _room_ was impressive.

The other problem was that if such a device did exist, it would be locked away in a high security research lab. Exactly where he _didn't _want to be.

Still... Dr. Scott was a good place to start - if he was still alive. He would at least be able to provide some information about recent scientific discoveries. Who knows? Maybe the Earthlings developed something Frank could make use of.

It was unlikely, but a chance is a chance.

Frank got up and started rooting through the apartment for a phone book. He had no idea where he was, but he hoped it was close to Denton.

He found what he was looking for in a junk drawer under the microwave. It was for Richland County, Ohio! He almost laughed out loud. He was in the right county!

He sat at the kitchen table with the book in front of him and flipped to the section for Denton. He scanned quickly until he found the 'Scotts.' There were five, but none of them with the first name Everett. That meant the old man was either unlisted, moved, or dead.

He bit one of his knuckles and sat staring at the pages. After a couple of seconds he snapped his fingers. Brad and Janet!

They would probably resent him for their _experience_ (there would be little risk of attachment), they knew the truth about him, and he could easily manipulate them.

They might even be able to tell him what happened to Everett Scott.

He scanned the pages again until he found 'Majors,' but the only listing was for a Steve.

"Damn!" He slammed his palm on the table in frustration.

On a whim he flipped to the last page of the Denton section and... Yes! There was Janet Weiss. He committed her address to memory and closed the book.

Frank laced his fingers together and rested them in front of him. He was still far from a well formed plan.

Truth was, he didn't want to have to rely on Janet. He didn't want anything to do with humans anymore. He just wanted off the planet as soon as possible.

First he would check out the safe house in Denton. His people might have left a communication device there in case someone ever got stranded. Also, he had hidden an emergency cache of useful items such as IDs, money, and devices there in case the mansion was ever compromised.

If he found nothing that could get him in touch with Transexual, _then_ he would track down Janet.

He wouldn't wait either. He would leave today, but not until after dark. This was mainly because the sunlight made him uncomfortable, and also because it would be harder for someone to recognize him at night.

He needed a car, or money for a bus ticket.

That thought made Frank grin. He had needs that hadn't been met for a very long time, and seducing the Cop brought them blaring to the surface. He knew exactly how to fulfill them and make good money at the same time.

So now he had a plan, a means, and something to look forward to. All he had left to do was was wait for the sun to go down.

* * *

Around three thirty the front door to the apartment rattled, causing Frank to tense up. He relaxed a second later when Linda walked in.

She slipped off her shoes and went about her normal routine until she noticed Frank sitting at the table. She started and yelped "Oh my God!"

Frank smiled charmingly at her, but it dropped away when she scowled.

"I'm glad to see you're awake," she said, "but you shouldn't be walking around yet. You're going to hurt yourself worse than you already..."

She stopped when she noticed his unbandaged right arm. There was supposed to be a nasty cut there. Her eyebrows lowered in confusion as she went over to him and took his arm. There wasn't even a scar. She looked at the rest of him. At least on the areas not concealed by the T-shirt he didn't have a bruise or a scrape.

"This is..." she ran a questioning finger over the skin on his arm where the cut was supposed to be, "Impossible."

"Stop that," Frank said sharply as he snatched his arm from her grasp and stood up. Her touch and proximity were making it hard not to take her right there, and he had already decided that would be a bad idea. If he waited a few more hours he could have some nice meaningless sex. For now he needed to keep his distance.

Linda stumbled back in alarm and uttered a small, "Sorry."

Frank didn't respond. He was suppressing his 'charm,' and he wasn't going to seduce her, so he didn't know what to do.

Her eyes roved over him. She was taking him in, but he didn't sense any physical or emotional attraction coming from her. Just curiosity. "You really are an alien," she stated to herself.

"That I am," he affirmed sarcastically. He moved past her and sat down on the sofa.

She stood there uncomfortably for almost five minutes before she worked up the courage to ask, "Have you read the paper?"

He didn't look at her. "I have," he said.

She pulled a chair over and sat across the coffee-table from him. "You've been asleep for almost a week, and they've been looking for you everywhere. I'm getting worried."

He finally met her eyes and cautiously relaxed. He bent forward and leaned his arms on his knees. "I'm worried as well."

"Do you have any idea what you'll do?"

He watched her, gauging her reaction to his next statement. "I'm leaving. Tonight. I won't tell you where I'm going."

"Good idea," she said without hesitation. "I can't tell them anything I don't know, right?"

He smiled appreciatively. He had sensed nothing. No tug of attraction. He was safe.

The rest of the afternoon went quickly enough with her answering any questions he could think of about what he had missed. Among other things, he learned that Russia did not own the US (though the Cold War was still on), and that a 'Jedi' was a telepathic knight from a popular movie called Star Wars. She offered him iced tea, which he accepted and sipped at casually.

Eventually the sun started to go down. Linda actually had a good view of it from her apartment window, and they watched the sun set in silence.

Once the last of the light was gone, Frank said, "It's time." He rose and went to the door.

"Wait." Linda got up as well. She went into her bedroom and when she came out again she was carrying sneakers, a pair of sunglasses, and a baseball cap. "My boyfriend left all his shit here when he dumped me," she explained. She handed the stuff to Frank. "His loss."

He put the shoes and the glasses on, but paused to examine the hat. It had 'I," a heart, and "NY" on it. He didn't know what this was supposed to mean. With a shrug he put it on. There was a mirror in the hall by the door and he took in his appearance.

He looked like a redneck.

_Blending in._ He thought. _Blending in._

He turned to Linda, who was smiling wanly, and something nagged at the back of his mind. Even now he could sense nothing from her. "Why did you help me?"

"Why not?" she said with sincerity.

Frank shook his head. "Because you've put yourself in danger, you've gotten nothing out of it, and I'm not even a member of your species. So why?"

She thought about it for a moment and said, "I guess... because you're an alien. You come all this way from another _world_ and all the officials can think of doing is locking you away and experimenting on you. It's not right. When you go home, I want you to be able to say that us humans aren't all bad."

He frowned and mulled that over. "I am truly grateful, but I'm afraid all I can offer in return is a small bit of protection."

"Protection?" Linda looked confused.

"Make no mistake, the FBI _will_ track me here. When they do, tell them that you were under the influence of my mind control."

Her eyes widened. "You have mind control?"

"Not quite," he smiled roguishly, "but that's not something they need to know."

With that, he walked out of her apartment and into the night.


	4. Names that End in Y

**Sorry this one's a bit on the short side...**

**Don't own.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

A black car lurked through the quiet suburban neighborhood and crunched to a stop outside a white fenced yard. The house inside the fence was a small single story.

Two men in suits climbed out of the vehicle. The one who had been driving had black hair, and bore his outfit and his station with a cool grace. The other man was younger, and though he was wearing almost the same thing, he managed to look like an absolute square. It was the glasses, or maybe the straight brown hair.

They went to the gate, but didn't open it. It wasn't the 'Beware of Dog' sign that caused them to pause, but the dog. It was big and white, and it growled as they approached.

"Rocky, come here." A woman emerged from the house and stood on the porch with a cocked hip and a scowl. She had dirty blond hair and looked to be in her late 20s or early 30s. She was wearing jeans that were rolled up at the calf and a short yellow tank top that was barely more than underwear.

The dog ignored her and continued to growl at the intruders.

"Get your big hairy ass in this house right now!" the woman yelled.

The outburst had the intended effect. With a last glare of warning, the dog turned around and did as he was told.

Once he was safely out of sight, the men went though the gate and crossed the lawn.

"Dammit Janet," the black haired man said with a suave smile. His words had a tinge of the South to them. "That animal a yours gets scarier every time I see it."

"Then stop coming around, Ray," she responded coolly. She stared down her nose at the two of them from her vantage point on the porch, and when her eyes lingered on the young, brown haired man, a flicker of pain crossed her features. "Steve," she greeted him tightly.

Steve nodded up to her. "Miss Weiss."

She moved back to allow them up the steps and onto even ground. "So, what are you here about this time?"

"Oh, there's just a couple a things I wanted to talk to ya about," said Ray. He looked up and down the street suspiciously as though he thought there might be spies creeping though the well maintained hedges. "But I think we should go inside first."

"Well, won't you come in then," said Janet, the bite of irony lacing her voice.

As soon as the front door was closed (and discretely locked by Steve), Ray was talking. "Have ya read the papers lately, or watched the news at all?"

"Both," replied Janet. She led them into the den and sat down. "Though I don't know why. It's all just the usual lies."

A little put out about not being offered a chair, Ray awkwardly selected one for himself.

Steve stayed standing and said, "Then you'll have seen the article about the escaped mental patient? It's been everywhere."

"Like I said..." Janet mumbled to herself. She leaned forward, her lips pursed. "What's this about? Am I under investigation?"

"No! No." Ray gave a chuckle. "Nothing like that. We only have a couple a... questions for ya, given your previous encounter with the subject-"

"Frank N Furter?"

"Yes, him," Ray continued, "Ya see, because his description matched the one you and... the other witnesses gave so closely... well naturally, we cracked open the files for the Denton affair. We confirmed a little conflict between the statement ya gave and current events. Do ya remember?"

Janet's face was expressionless. "Yes. I said he was killed."

"Exactly," said Steve. There was an edge to his voice. "If Dr Frank N Furter died seven years ago, how could he turn up in Mansfield now?"

"Beats me." She shrugged. "The man ruined my life. I'd prefer it if he stayed dead, but I really don't care what happens to him."

"So then," Ray paused, "Ya haven't seen him?"

Janet blinked. "Seen him? Why would I?" She looked from Ray to Steve and back again. "What's this really about?"

Ray put up his hands in a placating manner and said, "A hunch. Before he was found out, Frank N Furter was taken to a hospital. His escape was kinda weird, and the doctor involved believes he might be some sort a telepath."

"Telepath?" Suddenly she looked a lot less angry and a lot more interested.

"Sounds like it."

"But wait. What kind of Telepath? What are we talking about here?"

"We ain't sure, but judging by what happened at the hospital, and the *ahem* out of character things you described doing, it looks like he can influence or control people."

Her eyes misted over as she took in the implication. She and Brad might not have been at fault for their behavior? "What I don't understand," she said, "is what this has to do with me. Didn't my part in this end years ago?"

Ray shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"There were multiple witnesses to the subject's abilities," Steve stepped in. "They report varying degrees of susceptibility."

"Some people may not be effected by it at all," Ray continued. "And if Furter needs help, he's gonna have trouble getting it, what with all the media coverage. My hunch is that he might come _here_ thinking that if he could control ya once, he can do it again."

Janet didn't react for a long time. Finally she stood up, as did Ray. She said, "Thank you for coming here to warn me. If you would show yourselves out, I need some time to think."

"Sure thing, kid." Ray smiled, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a business card that had the 'Bureau for the Investigation of UFOs' on it. "Here. I know I gave ya one a these before, but I reckon ya threw it out. Furter probably won't show, but if he does ya call me the first chance ya get, 'K?"

Mutely, Janet took the card and nodded.

Still smiling, he tipped an imaginary hat and turned to leave.

Steve cleared his throat and said, "Sir, I'll be with you in a moment." They shared a look that made Janet suspect whatever was coming was planned. Ray gave him an encouraging wink and left.

Steve and Janet didn't look at each other. After a brief, awkward silence, Steve adjusted his glasses and said, "How's Sonny doing?"

Her eyes flared protectively. "He's fine. He's at school right now."

"How old is he now?"

Weakly Janet answered. "Six-and-a-half."

"His birthday is in late July, right? I just realized... that's about 9 months after the incident."

"What are you implying?" Janet's voice was hard and dangerous, but her eyes were full of fear.

Steve stared at his feet in shame. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. However, now that the files are open again someone might make connections. They might get interested. I don't think you and your son want that."

Janet tilted her head back. "I think you should leave."

"Alright." He met her eyes for the first time during their conversation. "Take care," he said pointedly.

She didn't move until she heard the front door close. As soon as she was certain she was alone, she ran to the bathroom and threw up her breakfast into the toilet. When she was done she gargled with mouthwash, splashed water from the sink on her face, and went into the kitchen.

She had to go on her toes to reach into one of the highest cupboards and pull down a large bottle of whiskey. She poured an ample amount into a glass and downed it in one swallow, grimacing as it clashed with the flavor of mint. She contemplated a second helping, but put the bottle back in it's place in an attempt to remove temptation. Betty would have her head if she got drunk before lunchtime. Instead she grabbed the box of cigarettes and her lighter off the counter and headed out onto her front porch.

She sat on the steps, ash falling unnoticed from the cigarette that dangled from her lips. Rocky slipped out of the doggy door and plopped down next to her, providing her with a comforting presence just like a good dog should.


	5. The Roman

**Sorry for the delay. I'm incredibly busy right now. I'm sure we all are.**

**Don't own.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

It was a beautiful morning in Denton. Clear, unfiltered sunlight fell over the old buildings and trees.

The parking lot of the Denton bus station was empty, but for a couple of old cars that no one had ever claimed. It belonged to the seagulls for now. They leapt about, gobbling bits of pavement, picking at errant garbage, and telling each other off. They went up in a loud flurry of white and gray when a bus pulled in. The brakes screeched when it stopped, as though answering their cries, and a small handful of tired looking passengers climbed off.

Frank was amongst them. He stalked away rather than joining the luggage queue, for the only thing he carried was the cigarette that dangled from his right hand. He was pretty much a chain smoker since he bought a pack of Marlboros the night before. Normally he was more of an occasional smoker, but he had missed the novelty and was taking full advantage of it now.

He was still wearing everything that Linda gave him, except for the horrible shoes. He ditched those in favor of some black, high heeled boots. He didn't care if they looked out of place. It was better than the aching feet he would have to endure if he wore anything else. The other addition to his ensemble was the bandage wrapped around his right arm. He wasn't injured. He wore it to cover his tattoo since the newspaper he bought to read on the bus had mentioned it in his description.

He strutted up the street until he found a pay phone and called himself a cab. While he was waiting for it to show he leaned against a building, one leg crooked with his foot against the wall. He finished his smoke, tossed it away, and immediately lit another one.

People were starting to mill about, running morning errands or going to work. They walked by without noticing him.

Finally a taxi pulled up and Frank got in the back. When the driver was given the desired address, he turned in his seat to gape at his passenger.

"What the hell do you want to go there for?"

Frank flicked his cigarette into the car door ashtray and said, "I want to see it again."

"Again? You've been there before?" No answer. "I hate to tell you this, but there's nothing there anymore. The house burned down in 75, or so the story goes."

"The story?"

"The official story. There was a big scandal about the whole thing. You sure you want to go there?" Frank slowly nodded, so he shrugged and pulled onto the road.

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Frank stared moodily out the window, contemplating what he was doing. He knew the house was gone. He would find nothing of use, but it felt like something he _had_ to do. "What's the scandal?" he asked.

The driver looked at him briefly in the rear-view mirror and said, "Some people believe there was never any fire, that the house just _vanished_. There were survivors, see, and they all went soft in the head. The kept saying that a bunch of aliens beamed it to another planet. It would have gone down as some stupid hoax, except that one of these survivors was a respected scientist. Two people died too. It was a pretty big deal."

"I see." Frank had stopped paying attention to the story. He knew it, and he was too busy watching the town go by. It hadn't changed. There were some new houses, and some of the businesses were either closed or under a different name, but otherwise it looked exactly as he remembered.

That is, until they got out of town. Where there once had been an encroaching forest, there was now a suburb. Rows of houses all looked exactly the same. Beyond this was construction, then open fields, and finally trees.

They barely got into the shrunken woods when they turned up the road that once led to the old Frankenstein place. There was no more gate, so they kept going to where the gravel track ended and then stopped.

Frank stared at the empty lot, feeling his heart in his throat for reasons he didn't understand. There was nothing. Nothing to indicate there had been a house here.

The driver watched him and decided to speak up. "This property belongs to the same company that's doing all that development we saw on the way. In a few years, this'll be houses too."

"Do you mind waiting," asked Frank. "I'll only be a couple of minutes."

"No problem."

He got out and walked across the empty grass. He stopped when he was standing in the middle of where the mansion used to be, and tossed the but of his cigarette down. He ground it into the earth with his boot.

The day was warm, but he shivered. This place had seen his downfall, his death, and he couldn't help but feel he was standing on his own grave. He shut his eyes. It felt strange, paying last respects to himself.

When he was done he headed back to the cab. He was surprised by how much better he felt. Just standing there had brought him closure he didn't even realize he needed. He climbed in the vehicle and ignored the strange look he was getting.

"Where too, now?"

"The Roman," he answered. He smirked when he got another double take.

"Old memories of that hole as well?" the driver asked quizzically.

"Of course."

He shook his head. "Jesus Mister, the Frankenstein place _and_ The Roman? You must have had one hell of a time."

"Interesting word choice, 'Hell.' I'd say that was more the destination than the experience." Frank said as they pulled away.

The driver didn't respond to that one. He decided it was easier to accept that his fare was insane.

* * *

The Roman was a hotel. The thing about it was that, ever since it was built back in the 20s, you could go there to get whatever happened to be illegal at the time. The place itself was never shut down because the people who ran it never had anything to do with the crimes that went on. It was as though all the criminals, junkies, and whores in the area one day decided that The Roman would be Denton's House of Sin, and it stayed that way for over 60 years.

No one who knew better ever went there unless it was to do something wrong. Even the police pretty much pretended it didn't exist. It was this that made it the perfect place for a safe house. Even if someone did find something, or the Transvestites got up to something unusual, people would just tack it up to the usual crap that went on.

When the taxi pulled in front, you would never suspect that anything less than the usual Hotel stuff went on inside. It was four stories, small, brown with white plastic shutters added on for effect. It was in the bad part of town, which meant the homeless person asleep in the door was normal and would go ignored.

The driver looked at the infamous place surrounded by it's trashy, greasy streets and then at his odd looking passenger. From the accent he had already guessed the guy wasn't American. "Here we are, but you listen first. I know this place is kinda well known, but if you're a tourist or something you do _not_ want to stay here."

"I'll be fine, thank you," Frank responded. His voice had a bit of it's old haughtiness to it, as he handed over a fifty. It was nearly the last of his money, but he was hoping he'd have his stash in a few minutes. Even if it was gone, he was at least in the perfect place to make quick cash, and for something he'd be willing to give for free.

The driver apprehensively watched him get out. "I'm giving you a fair warning. Don't stay here," the driver said. "If you go in there and I hear on the news tomorrow that you got shot or stabbed or something I won't feel guilty."

Frank didn't stay to listen to the whole speech. When the man was finished, he was already walking to the door. He gave a small wave over his shoulder to show he acknowledged what had been said.

As the taxi drove away, Frank awkwardly stepped over the hobo and went inside.

The little foyer was more of a box with a desk at one end. The air was saturated with the residue of cigarette smoke and many other things. Frank leaned casually on the desk and smiled at the old lady behind it.

She stared back without expression. ""How can I help you?" she droned.

"Well how do you think, darling?" His smile got bigger and he winked at her over his sunglasses.

The woman didn't look impressed. "My name's not _Darling_, it's Nona," she pointed at the name tag pinned to her sweater, "and I don't get payed enough to _think_."

Frank's grin shrunk a little as he recognized her voice. This was the same unpleasant lady he got on the phone yesterday. The one who had threatened hunt him down and shove his cock in an electric outlet if he ever called again. The less he talked to her the better.

"I stayed here once before, in room 202," he said a little more seriously. "I quite liked that room. It wouldn't be able to stay there again would I?"

Her eyes became sharp and suspicious and her neutral face crinkled into an ugly frown. "Why do you want that room?"

"I think I just told you," he purred. He tried putting just a little charm in it, but she didn't show signs of wavering. "But it it's not available-"

"It's not," she cut him off. "And do you know why? Because last week some asshole though it'd be funny to blow up the bathtub. So pardon me if I find it odd that you'd show up asking for the same room, _sir."_

"That _is_ too bad. I rather had my heart set on that room. Oh well." His flippant attitude did a good job of hiding his inner turmoil. It didn't escape him that a week ago he had come too in an alley, beaten and bloody. There was no doubt that this explosion in the safe-house was related. "Put me anywhere then."

"309." Nona slapped the key on the desk. When Frank tried to take it she didn't let go. "You look familiar."

"Well I did say that I stayed here before." He smiled his most charming smile, wrenched the key from her grasp, and went out the little side door to the stairs.

The receptionist watched him go and then pulled a newspaper and a pen from behind the desk. She flattened out the front page. Her pen was blue, but it would have to do. With it she drew a pair of sunglasses over the eyes of the escaped mental patient in one of the photographs. She stared at her handiwork and grunted.

Nona knew the number of the Denton Police Station all too well. She dialed them and said, "Hey Gary, better get someone down here."

She waited for a moment while the man on the other end talked, and then said, "No, I've got something more interesting this time." A pause. "You know that crazy who's been all over the papers? I think he just checked in."

* * *

Room 202 was exactly as the receptionist had said. The bathroom was a disaster area. The fiberglass tub was blasted straight out as though someone had gotten a bomb into the plumbing for the shower. Oddly enough there was no smoke damage. There had simply been an explosion, and then water everywhere from the gaping pipes.

Frank put the small duffel bag he had collected from under the TV stand on the floor and started investigating. He put one boot in the tub and, bracing his hands on the wall, peered closely at the hole. There was nothing left inside. It wasn't in a spot that looked like there should be something either. There was no residue and not even any heat damage.

He ran his hand over the area. The warping was strange, like frozen liquid. It radiated throughout the entire tub, but this was more subtle than the epicenter.

Frank recognized the damage. It was the type caused by a burst of Cold Energy, or a powerful Micro-Vibration. As far as he knew, the humans didn't have anything that could produce either. One the other hand, he wasn't aware of any Transexual technology in this safe-house (other than his stash). It must have been installed during his absence, but what was it? Why was it in the bathtub? And why had it been destroyed?

He nearly fell over when he got his heel stuck in a hole in the bottom of the tub. Once he was free he bent down for a closer look. Something glinted. He slipped two finger in and pulled out the metal shower head. The pressure from the blast must have fired it through.

He stood up and examined it with disinterest. Suddenly his eyes widened. This wasn't a shower head at all!

There was a click from behind him. He recognized the sound more from movies than from experience.

"If you don't want to get shot, then turn around slowly," said an even, male voice.

Frank discretely tucked the object he had found into his pants pocket and did as he was told. There was a figure standing in the doorway, aiming a gun at him.

"Are you Frank N. Furter?" the stranger asked.

Frank frowned, confused. "Brad?"


	6. What Went Down in 202

**Another quick one today.**

**Man, I realized I don't seem able to write anything without turning it into some sort of suspense drama. Oh well...**

**Don't own.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Janet hefted the last bag into the back seat of her car. It was full of Sonny's toys and games, and it would be a bad idea not to have them within his reach if they had to drive any length of time.

She stood back, admiring her handiwork. She had packed for several days, but had also been very conservative. There was still lots of room in the back for Rocky.

She really didn't know if she was going to run, but at least now she would be prepared should the need arise.

She would go to work now, and tonight, if she could work up her nerve, she would disappear.

* * *

"Oh, you remember him?"

No, this man wasn't Brad. there was a resemblance, but he was a little too short, his hair was too light, and his jaw was too narrow.

"I'm his little brother, Steve," the man with the gun clarified. "Are you Frank N. Furter?"

Frank watched him carefully. "And if I am?" he asked.

Steve opened the inside of his suit jacket to show off his FBI badge. "Then you're under arrest." He came a step into the room and then another, forcing Frank back.

Frank's legs hit the side of the tub, causing him to tumble into it.

He couldn't even look up at his captor. As soon as he had tried to sense Steve's emotions, he found himself overwhelmed by perfectly concentrated hatred and rage. It swept over his senses like a drug, even as he tried to shut it out.

Steve kept getting closer until Frank could almost feel the cold barrel of the gun against his forehead. He was terrified and trying not to let it show. He had to calm down. From the feelings he had gotten a moment ago he knew if he didn't do _something_ that he was going to find out what a bullet felt like. It would hurt, a lot. He didn't like pain. He didn't want to become a prisoner again, either.

With a sigh, Frank stopped resisting.

Very slowly he looked up, peering over the rims of his sunglasses. His eyes burned full of a fury that was not his own.

He leaned away from the weapon, bracing his hands behind him and drawing legs closer to himself. The gesture could have been mistaken for fear , but there was no more room for such an instinct.

The gun trembled in Steve's grip, but it had nothing to do with the sudden tension in the small room. He was simply having a hard time resisting the urge to shoot Frank in the head. It came as a complete shock when the alien was suddenly moving.

Frank kicked up. His boot hit the underside of Steve's arm, knocking it upwards. A shot was fired, but the bullet hit the ceiling instead of it's target.

Without giving the agent a chance to recover, Frank kicked again. This time aiming for the chest.

It connected, causing Steve to fall back with a cry. On his way down, the back of his head met the rim of the sink with a wet crack that broke off a chunk of cheep porcelain. Once he finished collapsing to the floor he stared up at nothing, his eyes and his mouth all wide with shock. His glasses had been knocked comically askew.

He dropped the gun and brought his trembling fingers to the back of his head. They came away with a thick coat of blood. After staring at the slick, dark liquid with with uncomprehending horror his arm went limp. He tried to move, but his body refused. He tried to breath. Again he failed. All he could do was convulse silently and gape as Frank rose into his vision.

Frank, for his part was indifferent. He counted on this outcome and he honestly preferred that the Earthling die, which he knew was going to happen. He was a doctor after all. He could easily recognize severe cerebral hemorrhaging. It would only take another minute or so.

He shook his head as the last fog of emotion wore off. His mind suddenly clearer, he was able to process the situation and its consequences. If he let this man die, that would mean the news agencies would be able to add the murder of an FBI agent to their stories. _That_ would mean national coverage and a much harder time moving unnoticed.

He stepped over Steve and lifted his bag, setting it on the broken sink. Rummaging, he pulled out what looked like a big, black remote. There was a gold button on the top and a gold lightening bolt poking out of one end. Frank pointed that end down at the Agent and said, "I hope you appreciate this."

Steve didn't answer. His eyes were still open, but they were looking glazed. The convulsions had decreased to bitty twitches, and he was barely breathing.

Frank pushed the button and out shot a beam of pulsing blue rings and a continuous feminine sigh. Every time an ring travelled through Steve's head, everything from bone, to blood, to brain matter became visible. After about twenty seconds of this, Steve's eyes closed and he slumped into unconsciousness.

Frank shut the device off, tossed it back in the bag, slung the bag over his shoulder, and left the bathroom.

He half expected a small army when he left room 202, but he found the hall was deserted. He walked down it quickly and darted into the stairwell. Again he was startled that no one was trying to impede his escape. Had the agent come alone?

When he got to the ground floor he didn't head for the front of the hotel. Instead he walked down another hallway and found the back entrance. The door was locked.

A brief check to make sure there was still no one around (cameras weren't a concern in The Roman) he pulled a slightly oversized pen from his bag and pointed it at the lock. The tip glowed and when he tried the door again it opened.

Back out in the sunlight he felt instantly more anxious. It was too bright. Glaringly, painfully bright. He was too exposed, and too hot.

He could breath a little easier though. There was no cop cars, and no officers or Agents waiting to arrest him. Brad's little brother really had shown up alone...

The alley he found himself in connected to another, and another. He traveled down them until he finally came to an open street and lucked out. A taxi with it's light on was traveling by. He hailed it and it stopped.

The Cabby this time was different, and did not give him any strange looks when he gave his desired address. After all, this time it was perfectly normal.

* * *

The homes Frank watched go by were small and economical. The taxi came to a stop outside one that looked exactly like it's neighbors, except that it was blue. He payed his driver and got out, studiously observing his surroundings.

Once the yellow vehicle was out of sight he started walking. He passed a house that was white and had a fence. There were some brightly colored children's toys lying like victims on the lawn, but otherwise it looked like all the others. He paused and then kept going.

At the end of the street he turned and kept going until he found a lane-way that went between the houses he had just walked by and the ones the next street over.

When he reached the back of the white house he had stopped at he went up to the fence and put a leg over it. His face grimaced for that uncomfortable moment before he could swing his other leg over. During that rather graceless final motion he somehow managed to catch his foot on one of the posts and ended up face first in the grass.

He froze. There was a low rumble, a growl coming from right in front of him. When he looked up, he found himself face to face with a pair of brown eyes, a wet, black nose, and a set of unpleasantly sharp teeth.

It was a dog. A big, white, _angry_ dog...


	7. Janet

**Another chapter done. This one is long, and I like it.**

**Don't own.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

It was dark out, but not completely. There were still the last dregs of crimson burning against the clouds. It was late and cool enough for the crickets. They took up their endless chirping with vigor.

They were drowned out by the blaring of modern music as a four door Fairmont went by. It stopped in front of a white house and out stepped Janet.

"Night Janet!" came the cries of the three women who were still inside. They were all dressed the same as she was: in a skimpy, red and gold uniform from a local restaurant.

Janet leaned over so she could look in the passenger window. "Thanks again Cindy," she smiled at the driver. "See you all tomorrow."

"Bye!" they all yelled as the car peeled off.

Once they were gone, Janet sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Would she see them again? Not if she did what she knew she had to do. That meant she had lied to her friends.

_Compared to everything else, that does not matter._

But for some reason, it did.

She opened the gate and crossed the yard. When she reached her front door, she felt a little worried because Rocky didn't greet her as he usually would. She unlocked the door, went in the house, flicked on the light, and called out to him. Still he didn't come. She was starting to panic. What if he ran away? The fence was low and she knew he could probably jump it, but that didn't sound like Rocky at all. He _never_ ran away. She didn't know if it was her and Sonny, or the house, but he was extremely protective of the area inside the fence.

Janet jumped when the phone rang. She rushed into the kitchen to pick it up, and was relieved when she heard Betty's voice on the other end.

"Hey girl, you just get in? I've been trying you for hours."

"Yeah, one of the new girls ditched so Yonihk landed me with an extra shift. Sorry I didn't get a chance to call and tell you." Janet leaned against the counter as she talked.

"Shit!" Betty hissed. "You know I have connections sweetie, just say the word and he's gone."

Janet giggled at their inside joke. "But then I'll be out of a job."

"Good, we'll find you a better one and you can buy that palace you've been admiring over on Cherry Lane."

This time Janet gently laughed. Once she calmed down again she said, "How's my little ray of sunshine?"

"An angel, like always."

She smirked at that one. Everyone told her Sonny was an angel, but she knew better. He simply had this way of getting people to give him what he wanted, let him get away with everything, and love him for it. She was probably the only person who could even say no to him.

"When are you coming to pick him up?" Betty continued.

"Soon as I can get the car started..." Janet trailed off as her eyes flickered down the hall to a shadow that was moving. Whatever it belonged to was in the living room.

Betty didn't notice the change in Janet's voice because she was too busy laughing. "I'll see you in an hour then! Bye."

"Yeah, bye." Janet hung up and cautiously made her way down the hall. "Rocky?"

There was no answer, and no dog. She went into the room, turned on the light, and screamed.

There was a man sitting on her couch!

His legs were crossed and one booted foot swung idly. He was wearing a white shirt and blue jeans, His black shoulder length and everywhere, and he was fiddling with an I 'Heart' NY cap in his lap. When he turned to look at her she could not recognize him. It didn't help that he his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.

He smiled in an unsettling way that tickled her memory.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" She demanded in a quivering, frightened voice.

He uncrossed his legs and stood up. His movements were fluid, almost feminine. "Why Janet, you don't recognize me?" He raised a hand and slid off the shades. The other hand he placed over his heart. "I'm hurt," he pouted.

Janet's eyes couldn't go any wider. "You?"

But it couldn't be. He could not be standing there in her normal, everyday house, dressed in normal, everyday clothes. He belonged in that world of cobwebs, and stairways, and taxidermy animals that she almost convinced herself had been a nightmare.

Then again, the newspapers _did_ say he was back. Ray _did_ warn her he might come. She stared into his eyes. He looked so _different_ without makeup or lace, but his eyes were the same as she remembered. This was unreal.

And then she remembered how she felt about him.

"You!" she snarled. "You asshole! Who the hell do you think you are coming here? Coming to me? Haven't you done enough to me? Do you honestly think I'm going to jump through hoops for you again?" She was advancing on him, but didn't even notice that he was retreating. His eyes were wide, his pupils narrowed. She suddenly realized something and stopped. "_Where is Rocky?" _she said in a dangerously sharp voice.

"Rocky?" Frank's features softened and he was staring at her with desperate hope. "He's... he's here?"

She blinked, not knowing what he meant. Then it dawned on her. "I mean my dog. _Where is he?"_

It was Frank's turn to look mad. "You mean you named that idiotic animal after _my_ creation?"

One of Janet's eyes twitched as that side of her mouth tried to curl into a smirk. "Actually, I think my Rocky is smarter than yours was."

"How _dare_ you!" Frank glared and rolled his shoulders back, lifting his chin in an air of haughtiness. "_My_ Rocky was perfect in every way! _You _should know that better than anybody!" He pointed an accusing finger at her. "He was mine! I made him for me! And you had to go and corrupt him, lead him down the path of... of _Eddy!"_

If Janet was angry before, she was livid now. "Well maybe _you_ should have thought of that before you went ahead and slept with me _and_ my fiance! And at least I cared about Rocky! You! You didn't even notice that he was hurt, did you? He was hurt, and scared, and confused for that entire night and you didn't care, as long as he looked good!" She stopped, took three deep breaths, and went on. "He tried to save you, by the way. It was too late, but he didn't understand. Rocky died trying to save you, and you probably still don't care. You only care that your _plaything _was taken from you." At this point there were tears tumbling down her cheeks.

She didn't say anything more, waiting for Frank to retort. He didn't. He didn't look like he knew what to say or do, if he should be angry or upset. He would not even deny anything she said.

"Where's my dog?" Janet finally tried again.

He blinked and then pointed to the corner where he had told the animal to stay. Sure enough Rocky was lying there, his big brown eyes on Janet and his tail thumping guiltily against the floor. She rushed over to him and he sat up so that she could put her arms around his neck.

Frank watched as she lovingly stroked thick fur and continued to cry. He was feeling better now that he was no longer the focus of her attention, so he rolled his eyes and said, "Oh come now. It's only an animal."

She stood up and rounded on him. She didn't look angry this time, just frosty and tired. "You have no idea what you did to me," she said. "Rocky was all I had. He's been here through everything."

One of Frank's eyebrows arched at that. "You do have a child don't you? And what of your dear friend, Betty?"

Janet blanched. "How do you know about them?"

"Oh, please." He rolled his eyes again. "I've been waiting for you for hours and that woman kept calling, leaving messages on your recording device. Plus there are pictures." He nodded towards a bookshelf where there sat several pictures of a kid with black hair and blue eyes. "Such a _charming_ little boy. You and Brad certainly did well. Where is Brad, anyways?"

Janet's face scrunched up. _So he thinks Brad is the Father?_ That was useful. She'd let him keep thinking that. "He _was_ in Vegas," she said flatly. "Now he's dead."

The superior smirk Frank had been wearing vanished without a trace. He backed away fearfully, ready for her to start raging again.

She saw this and sighed. She really was tired. Sweeping some hair out of her face, she moved past him and headed for the kitchen. Frank followed. Rocky whimpered but stayed where he was.

Janet reached up into a cupboard, pulled down a bottle of whiskey, roughly twisted off the cap, and took a long swallow. She sighed again and, without looking at him, held the bottle out to Frank.

He spared it a brief glance, but otherwise ignored it.

"I'm not an alcoholic," she stated. She got the message that Frank didn't want any and took another swig for herself. She then replaced the cap and returned the bottle to its shelf. Hands on the counter, eyes closed, she leaned forward. "But I was. This house, this nice life I have now with my son and my dog and my friends? It took five years to get here. _Five years _of clawing and tears to dig myself out of that hole you left me in." Still leaning, she looked up at him, not with hatred, but with resignation. "And now here you are, ready to drag me down again."

Frank had his arms crossed and was staring somewhere far away. "At least you were alive," he said softly. His tone wasn't resentful or cold, nor was it self pitying. It was expressionless, and it was the truth.

"Not Brad." Janet sighed again. "How are you alive, anyways?" She was curious despite herself.

"My invention, the same one I used to give life to Rocky and resurrect Eddy."

"Oh..." She had figured that. It wasn't what she wanted to know. "But why? Who would have-"

"That's none of your concern." His crossed arms were starting to look more like a self hug. "You seem to think I came here solely for your torment, but I assure you, I would not be anywhere near this horrible town had I a choice." He released his arms from their vice-like position and placed his hands on his hips.

Janet matched him gesture for gesture. "Than why are you here?"

"I need to find Dr Scott."

She snorted. She couldn't help it. "What, and you think I'll tell you where he is? You think I'd give up an old friend like that?"

Frank smirked. "So, he is alive?"

"Shit!" She glared at him as his smile grew. "Fine! He's alive, but he's been through enough and you're going to stay the hell away from him!"

He didn't say anything, instead letting the woman rage about, letting her build up until... "What do you even want him for?"

It was hard for Frank not to grin in triumph. "I don't know about now, but he used to study alien technology for your government."

Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "But... you _are_ an alien. Why do you need him to tell you about your own stuff?"

"Because my 'stuff' is not available at the moment."

"Than why don't you call one of those people who were at your party? Can't they help you?"

He threw his arms up in frustration. "Well obviously I tied that!"

"So... you're saying they're all gone?"

"As far as I know..." The words came out painfully. "I've already tried to locate what I need, but without success. Dr Scott is the best chance I have, and you are the only way I know of finding him."

Janet shook her head, refusing to believe that his words actually made sense. "Let me guess: you need the technology to make yourself a new Rocky, or a super sexy garter belt, or something."

"I need it so I can return home before your people dissect me!" His voice was sharp and he peered indignantly down his nose at her.

She blinked at him. "Return home?"

He softened. "Yes," he explained. "I don't know how or why I ended up on Earth, but I'm stranded. I have nothing that could even _contact_ Transelvania, let alone reach it. Please Janet, I'm alone. I have no one to turn to and all I want to do is go home. Help me now and as soon as I can, I'll be out of your life forever."

He was approaching her, getting closer. She felt a tingle in her mind that immediately made her think of the feeling she got when Sonny used his 'I'm cute, let me get away with it' routine. She forcibly smothered it and said, "Stop that."

Frank did stop. He also eyed her suspiciously. "Stop what?"

"I already know about your 'mind control,' or whatever it is. I'm afraid it won't work on me."

Frank didn't respond. His face was blank as he stared at her.

"What?" She smirked at him, happy to finally have the upper hand. "You didn't think the FBI would bother to warn me? They were here yesterday, and they'll probably come here again. In fact I think they bugged the house. They're probably on their way right now."

"You're lying!" He was backing away from her, looking around frantically for phantom Agents who might jump out of the shadows.

"No, I'm not."

His panicked eyes fell on her. "You would... just hand me over to them?"

She shrugged. "Why not? You ruined my life, remember?"

His back finally found a wall and he pressed himself against it. His knees bent as though barely able to support him.

Janet's feeling of victory faded as she slowly realized that the trembling, the rapid breaths, and the fear weren't an act. She watched him raise his hands and claw at his hair as though his head might try to escape. She didn't want to feel concern, but she hadn't expected a reaction like this. She had never expected to see the irrepressible Dr Frank N Furter have a breakdown in her kitchen. She moved closer to him. "Frank?"

"Stay away from me!" he screamed. She caught a glimpse of his terror stricken face before he was scrambling out of her kitchen and down the hall. He fumbled around in the living room until he found his bag and then was heading for the front door.

"Frank, stop." Janet tried to catch him before he could leave, but he shoved her off with surprising strength. She landed in a sprawl on the floor, not really hurt, just startled.

Frank stood over her, his chest still heaving as he strove to control his fear. "You weren't the only one who's life was ruined that night. _I died_, remember? Of course you do, you stood there and watched!" He turned his back on her. "Now you have this cozy life you worked so hard to get, while I'm stranded and hunted. So who ruined who?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Janet said sharply as she stood up.

He gave her a pointed look over his shoulder. "You understand nothing. But you're right, I shouldn't have troubled you. Say hi to the FBI for me!" He slammed the door behind him.

Janet stood there in shock. She couldn't believe she felt guilty! How the hell had he managed to make _her_ feel guilty?

"Augh!" she cried. Rocky had come out into the hall, and he jumped and cowered from her. She stormed into the kitchen, grabbed her purse, and pulled out her wallet.

She took out the little card that Ray gave her. He said to call if Frank showed up and at the time she had fully planned on following his advice. However now, as she ran her thumb over the embossed letters, she wasn't sure if she could. Frank just walked back into her life like a whirlwind. He desperately needed her, she let him down, and now he was gone. It left her with an emptiness that was all too familiar.

_What did he mean, 'who ruined who?'_

She tentatively picked up the phone and dialed. "Hey there, no everything's alright. Um... something came up that I need to take care of... no not that. It's personal. Yes, I know, but I don't have time to explain. Can you just... keep Sonny for tonight? Thanks Betty, see you both in the morning."

* * *

Frank sat of the curb a couple of houses down from Janet's. He was huddled over, hugging his knees and looking pitiful. A car went by and without moving he peered at it as it went by. It didn't stop, so he sighed and stayed in position. He didn't know how long this would take, or if it would even work.

The FBI wouldn't be on their way for awhile. He knew because he had searched for and deactivated all the bugs before Janet got home.

He hoped Janet was lying when she said she'd turn him over to them, but given her reaction to him, she might not be. The hope was warranted. He had gotten concern, however faint, from her during his 'episode.' She might just come around.

She was right though; he wouldn't be able to manipulate her like he had in the past. He never anticipated that she would be so _resistant_ to him. Why should he? The woman had been fainting left and right she was so sensitive before, but in five years she seemed to have developed some sort of immunity. It boggled him sometimes, how rapidly Earthlings could change.

They still had their guilt though. This was what he was taking advantage of at the moment.

Make her feel guilty. Make her feel sorry for him, and she would be putty in his hands. He was a little fearful that she would start caring too much, but she knew where Dr Scott was. He would have to take the chance, at least for now.

Another car rolled by, a beat up old station wagon. This time it came to a stop.

"Frank?" Janet's voice issued from the lowered driver-side window. "Why are you just sitting there?"

"I can't... I can't keep going!" he sobbed into his knees. He was an expert at this. "It's over! I give up! I don't care if they catch me anymore... or what... what they're going to do to me. I give up..."

"Frank!" She had to yell to get him to stop rocking and gibbering. When he looked up at her with teary, defeated eyes, she stared back firmly and said, "Get in the car."

He looked at the car and then at her. "Why?"

"I'm going to take you to Dr Scott."


End file.
